Syn (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 2), Malcolm Hollingdrake [best e reader for android .TXT] 📗

roof hung over the now closed footpath. Three further police vehicles were parked behind, followed by an ambulance. April recognised Max Foster immediately, senior firearms officer and DI Peter Jones, one of the Crisis and Hostage negotiators; he was a highly trained police officer with many years’ experience.

‘We have a man on the ground on both parallel streets. Another is in position at the top of Parkside Road and one at the bottom. So far there’s been no activity. The property is occupied by a Mrs Margaret Millington and her son Frank Lloyd. The other son works down south and as far as we’re aware is still there. We’re trying to contact him. According to a neighbour, there’s also a long-term partner living in the house but he works on a Saturday in Liverpool and should be there at the moment. Again, we’re trying to make contact.’

Checking her watch April adjusted the time to match the digital clock within the unit. ‘We’ll go on the hour. Standard procedure for this one with your guys taking the lead. Front, rear and garden in one co-ordinated move. Once clear in all areas we will follow.’

Gold and Bronze were notified of the orders and further instructions were sent. Steve was ready along with the drone. His role was critical in monitoring the movements of friend and foe in the area of the house, a technique for which he had trained. He checked his watch before making final positional adjustments of the hovering drone in readiness.

The vehicles began to move. Once parked and in position the command to move would be given. Tensions always ran high at this juncture. Skeeter and April pulled on protective vests and high visibility jackets clearly marked with the word ‘Police’.

Chapter 29

Lloyd checked his phone. Rodgers should be at home but if not, he would wait. He slipped on a pair of glasses.

Bill Rodgers had just finished showering when his doorbell rang. He grabbed a dressing gown and pressed the intercom.

‘Mr Rodgers? Merseyside Police. Sorry to disturb you so early on a Saturday but we have some information regarding Debbie Sutch. I believe she’s a friend of yours. We need your assistance urgently.’

He had not finished the sentence when the lock clicked and the door opened slightly.

‘Come up. Second on the left.’ There was a slight shake to Rodgers’s voice.

Rodgers grabbed a towel and began rubbing his hair as the knock came on the door he had deliberately left ajar.

‘Thanks, sir. DC Frank Lloyd. Sorry, as I said …’

Rodgers stopped drying his hair and stared directly at the man entering. ‘Have we met before?’ Bill moved closer.

‘You came to the station, about the murders? I think we met briefly then.’ Frank Lloyd was making a huge assumption. Luckily it seemed to work in his favour.

Rodgers backed off.

‘However, we also met before, socially. We met just outside a pub off Lord Street, way before all of this murder and mayhem started. Debbie, your kind partner, stepped backwards and bumped into me. You and the rest of your now-diminished group thought it highly amusing – Cameron Jennings, Carla Sharpe and not forgetting poor old, Stuart Groves. All gone.’ He ran his finger across his throat. ‘As easily as that!’

Rodgers pulled a face. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ His aggression was clearly evident on his face.

‘I’m not a police officer, I’m a salesman, and I’m good at my job.’ He removed his glasses and tucked them into his pocket. ‘People believe me. I can sell sand in the desert.’ He paused and pushed the door closed with the back of his shoe. ‘I hate bullies. I’ve always been bullied, ever since I was a kid and I vowed that even though I can’t fight I can retaliate in other ways.’

Rodgers threw down the towel and moved towards the man, his fists formed and his face reddening.

‘Stop! Let’s think of Debbie Sutch. You really don’t want to upset or hurt me. That would be good for no one at this moment, least of all you. Right now, you’re responsible for the deaths of those people you called friends. You might even be responsible for one more death if you lay one, small finger on me today.’

The bizarre circumstances in which Rodgers found himself were clearly confusing. The idea that a police officer was suggesting that he was responsible for the deaths did not make any sense at all. ‘Where’s Debbie?’

‘Safe. Let’s sit like two sensible adults and talk this through. I killed them, all of them, starting with Carla. I hold up my hands – mea culpa, Mr Rodgers, mea culpa. But then, you forced me to do it so you were the one who metaphorically pulled the trigger. I simply held the gun.’

‘What the fuck are you on about! Are you for fucking real?’

Frank Lloyd remained calm even though he felt his heart could be seen pounding in his chest. He sat casually and waved his hand for Rodgers to follow. ‘No? You don’t want to listen to reason? Then I’ll leave and that will be it.’

‘You won’t leave here. I’ll fucking beat you bloody senseless, to a fucking pulp and then get the police.’

‘And then, you say correctly because and then.’ He emphasised each syllable. ‘Another life will be taken … an innocent life. I’ll never divulge where the person is hidden, neither to you nor the police. They will die eventually, locked away with no food, no water. A slow and dare I say it, if all deaths are not deemed to be cruel, a cruel way to die. All because of you!’ He pointed his finger. ‘Your friends need you now to act for them but not in your role as bully. They need you to be selfless! Mr Rodgers, nobody will ever make me reveal the person’s whereabouts. In the past, like now, I was frightened of you but at the moment this no longer applies. You see, the difference is, death no longer worries